Violet Skies
by Dryad Mage
Summary: Erin Dennings is an enthusiastic supporter of mutant rights, but keeps it secret from her adoptive parents, who she definitely knew would abandon her if they found out. However, strange things start to go on, and the least involves her eye color...


_Mmkay, I decided to scrap the whole thing and rewrite it for Nanowrimo. Don't know if I'll actually succeed, but... *shrugs* Anyway, here's a better quality Violet Skies!  
_

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The pain in my shoulders didn't lessen as I rubbed them. I was trying to pay attention to the speech, but it was nearly impossible, when it felt as if somebody had attacked me and drove a knife into my back. It had been distracting me for most of the evening, and the painkillers I'd taken hadn't even touched it. The only thing that was remotely helping was the cool breeze that swept in through the double-wide doors that'd been propped open.

"We are here to welcome each other as equals," stated the speaker in a brief statement that I managed to hear. His words caused warm fuzzy feeling to radiate through my chest. I was here. I was standing in the White House, in the presence of the president and who knows whom else, because of the hard work I had done to get here. I wasn't a politician—not yet, anyway—but it felt awesome to be around the people who helped run our country, as if I could somehow glean knowledge from their minds just by being in the same room as they were. That was why I hadn't left to rest and get rid of what was making my back hurt so. I couldn't leave when there was so much I could learn.

A couple of months ago at school, in Government, the teacher had announced that there was to be a nation-wide essay competition. The best ones from each state would go to the capitol, and then they'd decide from there which was the best. The topic this year was on mutants. We could write about whatever we wanted to with that as long as it was within reason. The grand prize would be a scholarship to a college of our choice that would pay for a quarter of our schooling, and a trip to the White House itself, to give the winner what I was so excited to be here for: a learning opportunity.

I wrote on one of the first things that came to mind, and spent weeks painstakingly going over it, making sure that it wasn't too formal or lax, and making it as perfect as I thought it could be. By the time it was finished, I'm sure the teachers were sick of hearing about it—partially because the opinion wasn't the most popular at the institution—and were relieved when it was sent off.

My parents were the hardest for me to get to accept my position in the paper. Once they found out about what I was writing, I had to convince them that I was only writing it from the opposite view because I found it a challenge, when that wasn't the reason at all. It would've been fun had I not been risking quite a bit, as they were very strong in their belief.

"We welcome you with open arms," finished the orator, and received a polite applause from the audience. I withdrew my hand from my shoulders and walked up to my parents.

"That was a wonderful speech," commented my mother, and that threw me for a loop for a moment. That was when I realized that she was already practicing lying right to peoples' faces in attempts to suck up to them.

I couldn't wait to leave home.

"Yes, love," said my father casually, glancing at the clock on the wall as if it could hurry up time and let us go back to the hotel. He was less comfortable than either his wife or I, his bearing stiff and awkward.

"Erin, your father and I are going to go over to talk for a while," said my mother, smiling slightly as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "We'll be leaving at midnight, and I'll want you to meet us over by the refreshments."

I nodded, and she swept away with my dad, leaving me to socialize by myself, which was a good thing, if you think about it. Had they ordered me to stay with them I probably wouldn't be able to get a word in of any conversation unless I was asked, and I'd have to give an answer that wouldn't really give my own opinion at all. I'd rather talk to people honestly tonight, if I could at all.

Instead of wandering around, I walked over to one of the tables and sat down, leaning up against the chair to see if it would help. It didn't really—actually increasing the problem—and I would have growled with frustration had it been considered appropriate to do in this place.

"You alright?" asked a voice, and I looked up to see a boy my age with almost white-blond hair and pale skin looking at me. I smiled, half polite and half delighted. I hadn't expected to see _anybody_ my age around here, unless this was the son of one of the politicians. He was rather handsome too, though he reminded me of some of the general blond pretty-boys they were constantly filtering through movies and television.

"I'm fine," I assured him, and we shook hands. "I'm Erin Dennings. You?"

"Louis Allard," he said, sidling into one of the seats next to me. "You must be the one who won the essay competition."

"How'd you guess?" I said, teasing. We _were_ the only minors here, apparently.

"I don't know," he said, smirking as he leaned back in the chair. "It was really difficult. See, I had to ask almost _everybody_ in the room before I found out who you were."

"Aha."

The conversation petered out after that. An awkward silence filled the air over our table, and I bit my lip. I really wished I'd thought to take a purse with some ibuprofen in it, but I was worried about whether or not I would be allowed to take it in. I'd never been into the White House before, even on a tour, and I didn't want to have to go through the trouble if I couldn't. I winced as a fresh wave of pain hit me, and tried to look like everything was normal.

My parents were standing in the corner of the room, talking to a politician I couldn't put a name to. They seemed to be having a very good time, however, and I had no doubts as to what they were talking about. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of my stomach as they laughed, honestly amused at what they were hearing.

I turned my head away. What if somebody thought I agreed with them?

That was when I saw him. Almost immediately my bad mood vanished. Talking to the Press Secretary was Dr. McCoy. He was the head of Mutant Affairs, being a virtual poster child for mutants in the political world. He worked for what he believed was their greater good, and he had managed to get Congress and the House of Representatives to calm down some of their bills involving people with extra abilities. Could I really get up and talk to him? Would he really want to talk to me?

That was when I realized somebody was trying to talk to me.

"What?"

"Where are you from?" asked Louis, smirking.

"Um… just a couple of hours away," I said, rubbing my jaw as I tore my eyes away from the blue politician. "Sorry."

"I don't blame you," he said. "McCoy's a great guy."

_That _made me turn my head toward him.

"Every once and a while he comes to my school," said Louis. "Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. He used to be a student there before he graduated."

"Huh!" _Why _couldn't I make any intelligent conversation tonight?

"Yeah, he's great friends with the Professor."

"Who?"

"Allard!"

I half jumped out of my seat. Louis looked up and broke into a smile. A woman with bright red hair strode in our direction, in a strange dress that looked as if it were trying to look like a suit. I blinked, trying to remember if I had seen her before, like on the news.

"Sorry I left you," she said, not even hesitating before she took another one of the chairs. "I had to deal with some issues that came up at the school that couldn't wait. Who's your friend?"

"This is Erin," he said, gesturing toward me. "She's the one who wrote the paper on mutant immigration."

"Really," she said, a look of mild surprise flashing across her face. "Right. I should have known. Nice to meet you, dear."

"Nice to meet you, too," I said, nodding politely.

"Very impressive, for somebody your age," she said. "I rather liked your theory about fear and how it affects the ratio of mutants to average human beings entering and leaving the United States."

"It's nothing that hasn't been stated before," I said, looking down at my hand that was resting on the table.

"Ah, but sometimes things need repeating, and you _were_ the winner, so there must be some merit to your piece," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Thanks," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Allard, you learning anything?"

"Only that the majority of this party involves a lot of people habitually lying to each other," he said. "Excluding three people sitting in the corner of the room and a certain fuzzy man."

I laughed, and the lady followed suit. I ended up having a pretty good time for the rest of the evening, talking and debating with them. It was great having some people around here who could keep up with me intellectually _and_ wanted to be in the same room as me. For some reason—I don't know why—all of the intelligent kids at school tended to avoid me.

Louis actually ended up giving me his email, and it left me wondering whether it was because he actually just liked the conversation and wanted to continue to talk to me as friends, or whether he actually had _feelings_ for me.

My parents weren't too happy when they found me chatting with mutant supporters, but they were kind enough to hide their displeasure when they were in front of them. Turns out I was sitting with Dr. Jean Grey, the woman they'd been shouting their dislike about at home, very vehemently. The result was that they ushered me away and forced me to stay by their side the rest of the time, forcing me to listen to people who I believe professed the same things that they themselves were frequently telling me.

Had a certain situation in our history not happened, I probably wouldn't be fighting them so much, writing pro-civil rights papers and hanging out with people they didn't like. I was actually adopted when I was younger, and they already had a son. He was kind to me, treating me nicely, and we became really close, as much as a true brother and sister should be. He told me his secrets, and I kept them strictly confidential, because, to a little child, keeping such confidentialities was like a having an adventure without your parents knowing.

However, it was due to one of them that he ended up leaving us, forced out by our parents. I never told them that I knew about him, and chose to wait, biding my time until I graduated before I blatantly pursued civil rights movements.

My brother was a mutant.


End file.
